


Bring My Soul to Bare

by ladyannabethstark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:27:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyannabethstark/pseuds/ladyannabethstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa arrives at the Wall shortly after Jon has been stabbed by his men and nurses him back to health. After the intimacy of that experience both find themselves unwillingly attracted to each other, despite their sibling relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt that was given to me on tumblr that turned into much more than a drabble so I'm posting it here in two chapters.
> 
> Sansa and Jon are aged up here simply because I say so. She's sixteen and he's around nineteen.
> 
> Despite the summary, this has no sibling incest.

Sansa did not know what to expect when she rode into the courtyard of Castle Black. She did not even bid her half-brother farewell on the day that they left Winterfell and went their separate ways. Why should he welcome her here when she never treated him as a true sibling in their childhood. Now, at six and ten namedays, Sansa knew better than her younger self and she longed for a reunion with the only family member of hers that remained. So when she looked out from beneath her hood at the surprised faces of the men in black that surrounded her, Sansa felt an ache of disappointment when she did not spot him right away. Jaime and Brienne were on either side of her, both in armor and staring around warily with their hands on the pommels of their swords.

“We were not expecting visitors,” a round man said as he stepped forward, his voice grating on her.

She felt strange as she looked upon him, as though she wanted to order his death without knowing why.

“I have come to speak to Lord Commander Snow,” Sansa said, lifting her chin regally.

“And who are you to make such demands?” the same man questioned with a glower on his face.

She arched an eyebrow at him, reaching out to still Jaime when his horse started forward. Sansa reached up, pulling her hood off to let her auburn locks spill out over her shoulders.

“I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and sister of the Young Wolf. I am Queen in the North and I demand to speak with your commander,” she said, daring him to speak so disrespectfully to her again.

“We are men of the Night’s Watch,” another man said, a look on his face as if he smelled something disgusting beneath his nose. “We don’t answer to the laws of the realm.”

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Podrick, nodding at him. He dismounted his horse, hurrying forward to hold her mare still as she did the same. Sansa walked forward as she gathered her skirts in her hands, aware of her guards that shadowed her once they dismounted their horses as well. Jaime and Brienne led the soldiers that were sworn to her cause, twenty of them in total that accompanied her to the Wall. The rest were camped close by.

“Tell me your name,” she said to the round man.

“Bowen Marsh,” he said haughtily.

Sansa hummed, nodding as she contemplated his name.

“Surround him.”

Before he could say a word, Jaime had him by the scruff of the neck and was forcing him to the ground. Brienne and the rest of the soldiers surrounded him with their swords drawn.

“You will answer to me now,” Sansa said softly, looking down at him. “Where is Jon Snow?”

“He’s in the maester’s tower,” a voice said quickly.

Her head turned and she saw a young man with dark hair and a beautiful face hurrying towards her. The soldiers parted to let him through at her command.

“What is your name?” Sansa asked.

“Satin Flowers,” he replied, bowing to her quickly. “I was the Lord Commander’s steward.”

She studied him for a moment.

“Was?” Sansa said, not missing the way he spoke.

He hesitated, glancing down at Bowen Marsh, who was scowling up at him.

“What has become of my brother?” Sansa demanded.

“He’s a filthy deserter,” Marsh said before spitting at her feet. “A traitor just like his family.”

Jaime struck him across the face, sending him sprawling to the snow as blood from his mouth stained the pure white powder. Sansa looked at Satin expectantly.

“He was going to rescue his sister from the Bolton bastard, m’lady,” the young man answered. “There was a mutiny before he could leave.”

“She is a queen, you will address her as ‘Your Grace’.” Brienne corrected the man.

Satin bowed his head, his cheeks flushing with shame.

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

Sansa waved off his mistake, worry stirring in her at the words that she heard.

“Arya? He was going to save Arya?” she asked.

Several men around them nodded in confirmation, turning their eyes away so that they would not meet her gaze. Sansa wondered how Jon could not know that the bride that Ramsey Bolton took was not their sister, but another girl entirely. If the Lannisters had forced Arya into marriage, the groom would have died in their marriage bed.

“Did he leave?” Sansa asked.

Satin frowned with confusion but she looked away from him, bending down to look Bowen Marsh in his beady eyes.

“Did my brother mount a horse and leave the Wall?” she demanded, lifting his chin with her gloved fingers.

“No,” he growled.

Sansa dug her fingers into his skin, anger rushing through her.

“Then he did not break his oath to the Night’s Watch,” she snapped, shoving him back into the snow. “You found him guilty before he committed any crime.”

She looked around at the men gathered with an accusing expression. They had the grace to look ashamed, refusing to meet her gaze. Her eyes went to Satin as she took a deep breath.

“Take me to him now, tell me what happened,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jaime and Brienne shadowed her steps as Satin led them forward.

“No one leaves,” Sansa instructed her soldiers.

They all formed a line at the entrance, their swords drawn threateningly. As Satin led them towards the maester’s tower, Sansa walked next to him.

“Tell me who was involved in this plot,” she requested, keeping her voice calm once more.

Satin explained what happened to her, making her hands clench into fists. She hurried up the steps behind him, coming to a room with several guards in front of it. They looked alarmed at the sight of her.

“She’s Lord Snow’s sister,” Satin assured them.

“I want to see him,” Sansa said.

They bowed to her, one of them opening the door for her. When she stepped inside, Sansa caught sight of a shivering form lying beneath a pile of furs on the small bed. She knew that it was Jon, rushing to the side of the bed. He was thin, too thin. His face was sunken and his hair was limp against his head. His beard was overgrown and his skin was as pale as the snow outside. When Sansa reached down to take his hand in both of hers, she gasped at the burning heat of his skin.

“He didn’t burn, Your Grace,” Satin said where he was standing at the edge of the bed.

Sansa turned with a frown, wondering what he meant.

“It’s true, he was dead and we built a pyre for him. Only the fire burned out and he was still there, unburnt and breathing again. His wounds have sealed over, as you can see,” one of the guards said.

She reached down, pulling the furs back to see that pink, healing scars littered his torso.

“Then what is wrong with him?” Sansa demanded.

“He burns with fever, Your Grace. He has been for a fortnight now. We don’t know why,” Satin said, looking as though he could tell her something different.

Sansa felt like screaming with fury, pressing her hand over his chest where his heart was beating furiously. She had just found him and he was likely dying.

“Every man who was involved in this plot will be taken into the custody of my men and thrown into cells,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “If any of them resists or tries to escape, he will be killed in the slowest way possible.”

Sansa had no mercy for the mutineers, not as she looked down at the perishing form of her last family member.

“Aye, Your Grace,” one of the men said.

“Wait.”

She turned to look at them, realizing that they had been guarding him from coming to any more harm.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Pyp and this is Grenn, Your Grace,” the skinnier of the two answered her.

Sansa nodded at them.

“You are his friends?” she asked, sensing the answer.

“We’re his brothers, Your Grace,” Grenn replied.

She felt tears stinging her eyes, knowing that they’d probably been better siblings to Jon than she had.

“You have my thanks, sers,” Sansa said quietly.

“We’re no knights, Your Grace,” Pyp said, shaking his head.

She smiled at him sadly.

“I’ve known many knights, Pyp, and none more valiant than you.”

With bows and flushed cheeks, they took their leave to follow her command. Before she turned back to Jon, she looked up at his steward questioningly.

“Where’s Ghost?” she asked with confusion, knowing that the direwolf would not willingly leave Jon’s side.

“They have him locked up,” Satin informed her, looking ashamed as he spoke.

She felt anger once more.

“Have him released. If anyone refuses, tell them that I will come release him myself and then I will set him upon those who denied my command.”

Satin nodded quickly, turning to hurry out of the room. Sansa turned back to the bed, picking up a cloth and dipping it in cool water. She wiped the sweat from Jon’s face carefully, hoping that the temperature of the water might sooth his heated skin. His breath was ragged and his eyes were squeezed shut. She let a sob force its way out of her throat, laying her forehead on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered.

* * *

Several days passed and his condition did not improve. Sansa refused to let herself become like her mother did when Bran was lying in his bed after his fall. She permitted them to give her a small chamber to bathe and dress herself before returning to Jon’s side. She did sleep in the maester’s chamber, sat in the chair with her head lying on her arms. Her dreams were filled with horrible things, some from King’s Landing and others from the Vale. Every so often, she dreamed of Jon’s attack and woke, checking his heart to make sure that he was alive. Ghost was his other constant companion, taking up a place at the fire when he was not sitting by Sansa and allowing her to scratch behind his ears.

That night, Sansa decided to join the men of the Night’s Watch as well as her soldiers in the Great Hall to eat. She sat between Pyp and Grenn, much to their pleasure and to her guards’ disapproval. As the men around her told bawdy stories, Brienne sputtered where she sat and reminded them that they were in the presence of a queen. Sansa simply laughed, feeling at ease in the presence of Jon’s friends.

“It is quite all right, Brienne,” Sansa assured her. “I find myself enjoying these tales.”

She even went so far as to repeat one that she heard in King’s Landing, flushing as she repeated the words. The men around her laughed raucously, complimenting her on the tale and looking at her with appreciation for the humor she allowed in this dark time.

“Why have you not chosen a new Lord Commander?” she asked after a while.

The good humor of the men in her vicinity faded as they exchanged wary glances.

“No one knows what to do,” Pyp admitted. “Jon is still alive.”

Sansa frowned at him.

“He’s not your Lord Commander anymore,” she reminded him. “His vows are only upheld until death. He died. Men who were meant to be his brothers killed him.”

She stood up abruptly, no longer feeling like being amongst others.

“Pick a new leader,” Sansa called loudly before turning to hurry out of the large room.

Her guards were just behind her but she ignored them, making her way back to the maester’s tower. She took the steps quickly, slamming the door open before turning around to shut it, latching it in place in the hope that no one would bother her. Sansa took a deep, shaking breath as she laid her forehead against the cool wood of the door. The smallest whisper of her name behind her made her gasp and whirl around. Jon was still lying on the bed and his eyes were glassy with fever but he was looking at her.

“Jon,” Sansa breathed, moving to his side quickly.

She put the cool rag on his head, allowing him to take a look at her closer to confirm that it was her. His hand lifted, shaking with effort as he pinched a lock of her auburn hair between his finger and thumb.

“Lucky,” he muttered.

Sansa took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly.

“I’m here, Jon,” she assured him.

He took a rattling breath, pulling her hand down to his chapped lips. Sansa sighed when he kissed over her knuckles.

“Hurts,” he groaned.

Her heart dropped at the pain in his voice.

“I know,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I wish that I could take the pain away.”

His eyes were already fluttering closed as he let out a wracking cough. She winced at the sound, leaning down to press her soft lips to his cheek.

“I’m not leaving you,” Sansa said, hoping that he heard her before he slipped back into unconsciousness. “I’ll be right here.”

His breathing grew steadier as he slept. She did not move, her face pressed into his neck as she stroked her thumb over the back of his hand again and again, holding it to her heart.

* * *

The next time he woke, Sansa did not give him time to speak. Satin rushed away, coming back with a bowl of stew only minutes later. Grenn and Pyp helped Jon sit up a little as she spooned small sips into his mouth. His throat bobbed and he choked on the hot liquid every few sips but she persisted, desperate for him to get better. When he had a satisfactory amount, Sansa insisted upon changing his bedding and having him in a cool bath. Despite the insistence that she let them handle it, she stayed for every moment, wiping his body down with a cloth as he shivered in the bath. She helped Satin change the bedding before allowing them to lie him down once more.

“Where did you learn to care for a man this way?” Satin asked as Sansa pulled the furs up to Jon’s chin.

“I had to learn a great many things,” she replied quietly.

Jon stared up at her, his eyes cleared a little bit as his hand slid out from beneath the coverings, reaching for her. She took it in hers, pressing his scarred knuckles to her lips as she closed her eyes and prayed for him. He squeezed her hand lightly, putting as much pressure on it as he could. Sansa smiled lightly, hoping that it encouraged him.

“It’s a miracle, Your Grace,” Satin said, shaking his head with disbelief as he stood at the end of the bed. “He was close to death when you came.”

She ran her hand through his damp curls, stroking his hair as her mother used to do when she was ill. It always made her feel better and, judging by the contented noise that Jon made, he was finding comfort in the gesture as well.

“He needed a reason to return,” Grenn said from the doorway.

“I suppose he’s found one,” Pyp muttered.

Sansa tried to ignore their words, though they filled her chest with a curious warmth. It did not matter whether Jon needed her or not, she would not leave his side until he ordered her away, if such a time would come.

“I have heard talk of a woman in red,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at them.

They all exchanged hesitant looks.

“She’s a priestess of R’hllor, Your Grace,” Satin informed her. “King Stannis brought her here and left her behind when he marched South.”

Sansa knew the rumors that surrounded the worshipers of the god of light.

“Could she have done this? Brought him back?” she asked.

“She wasn’t near him at the time. I do not know,” Grenn said honestly.

The other two nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to speak with her, Your Grace?” Pyp asked.

Sansa shook her head.

“I don’t want her anywhere near Jon,” she said, knowing that he was more in danger now than ever, being so helpless.

“What of Bowen Marsh and Alliser Thorne?” Grenn questioned. “Will you pass a sentence on them?”

She considered it for a moment. As much as she wanted to see their deaths carried out at her command, she knew that it was not truly her right.

“Keep them where they are,” Sansa decided, knowing that Jon had the right to choose what would happen to his would-be murderers.

They nodded, leaving her behind with Jon.

* * *

Sansa was bent over the bed sleeping with her arms beneath her head, as was normal for her now, when she awoke to a hand softly stroking her long hair. Her eyes fluttered open and she sighed, relishing in the feeling for a few moments. Then she realized who it must have been and lifted her head. Jon was looking down at her, propped up on a few pillows and looking healthier than he had in weeks. A bit of color had returned to his cheeks and his body was filling out once more. His other hand was stretched out, resting on Ghost’s head where he sat on the other side of the bed, his tail thumping on the floor.

“I heard that you’re somewhat of a miracle worker,” Jon said, his voice still rough from the sickness.

She flushed slightly, straightening up to stretch.

“I take no credit for the fight that was yours,” Sansa replied, lowering her eyes.

His hand cradled her cheek, his skin rough with calluses. She leaned her head into the touch, trying to remember the last time someone treated her so tenderly. Her memory offered nothing. Sansa lifted her hand, putting it over his as she looked up into his eyes.

“How am I alive?” he asked, frowning slightly.

She wished that she had answers for him, but there were none to satisfy him.

“All that I care about is that you are alive,” Sansa said, putting her hand over his steadily beating heart. “Are you still in pain?”

He shook his head.

“Not nearly as much as I was. I will manage,” Jon assured her.

Sansa felt relief, a sigh escaping from her lips as the burden of the past several weeks seemed to float away. Suddenly, she felt exhausted, not physically, but emotionally. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes as she ducked her head, hoping that the curtain of her hair would hide the ridiculous emotions that threatened to burst from her. Jon did not allow such a thing, brushing her hair back with both hands. Sansa gasped as her chest tightened and her hands began to shake.

“I’m being foolish,” she cried, trying to brush her tears away. “You almost died and I’m weeping like a child.”

Jon shook his head, drawing her towards him. As he gathered her in his arms, years of emotions poured from within her where they were shut away for fear of someone using them against her. Sansa lay beside him on the bed, sobbing into his neck as he stroked her hair, remaining silent. It was what she needed. Words of reassurance would not help her now. His comforting embrace was enough.

“You are all that I have left, Jon,” she whimpered. “I feel so terrible for the way that I treated you when we were children. It was horrid of me. Please do not send me away. I have no one else.”

He shushed her, turning her face to look into her eyes.

“I would not dream of sending you away, Sansa,” Jon assured her.

His reassuring words brought on a fresh wave of tears, causing alarm to flicker over his face. He quickly tried to calm her down, afraid that his words made it worse. Sansa could not help the laughter that bubbled from her chest and knew that she looked insane, laughing and crying at once. Her loud sobs did not go unheard, causing Satin to run into the room with Pyp and Grenn behind him, clearly expecting the worst. When they saw Jon sitting up and comforting the distraught Queen in the North, they all looked like they were holding back laughter. Sansa tried to explain that everything was all right but her voice was too high-pitched and thick with tears for any of them to understand what she said.

“We’ll just leave you to it,” Grenn said with an undisguised smirk as they backed out of the room.

She choked out apologies for scaring his friends off but Jon brushed them away, pulling her back down to hold her close to him. Sansa soon fell asleep, finally able to slumber peacefully with the knowledge that he was truly going to live.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he was sitting up and talking, her charge grew much more difficult to handle. More specifically, it was hard to convince him of why he should not walk around only a day after he woke.

“You are still recovering,” Sansa said, pushing a plate of meat and vegetables into his hands.

He did not reply, too polite to grumble back at her as he ripped off a piece of bread. She smiled slightly, eating from her own plate as she sat next to him. After a long silence as they ate, Jon finally spoke once more.

“How did you get away from King’s Landing?”

Sansa froze, her eyes widening as she stared down at her lap. She felt his gaze on her as she tried to form words that could describe her escape.

“I left when Joffrey died,” she said in a shaking voice. “It was…chaotic. No one was looking at me and I was able to get away with someone’s help. I didn’t know…there was someone else behind it but I didn’t know that it was them.”

Her fingers gripped her fork tightly, causing her knuckles to whiten.

“I didn’t know what he wanted,” Sansa whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I didn’t know what any of them wanted.”

Jon reached over, prying her hand away from the fork. He held it in his, squeezing it gently as she looked over at him.

“Do you remember that night when we had the harvest bonfire and we were sent inside early because Robb and Theon accidentally lit Rodrik’s cloak on fire?”

Sansa instantly remembered what he was speaking of, a smile forming on her face.

“Jory dragged him to the trough by the stables and dumped him in it to put the fire out,” she said, nodding at him.

Jon let out a small laugh.

“We were supposed to go to our own chambers but we all ran to Robb’s and got on his bed to tell scary stories,” he continued.

“And Robb shouted at me in the middle of one of his tales and I almost fell off of the bed,” Sansa recalled, her smile growing wider.

It hadn’t been amusing for her at the time, but now she could look back on it and laugh. Jon rubbed his thumb in gentle circles over the back of her hand.

“You were so scared to go back to your chambers but Robb and Theon wouldn’t walk with you,” he said softly.

Sansa’s smile faded a bit and she looked into his eyes.

“You walked me there and told me that you could always protect me from any shadows that would haunt me,” she murmured, entwining her fingers through his.

“Always,” Jon reiterated.

She sighed, putting her plate of food aside before moving closer to him.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, wrapping both of her hands around his one.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who didn’t give up on me when I was dying,” Jon reminded her.

“And you’re the one who won’t give up on me now even though we were never close before,” Sansa replied.

They stared at each other, both too stubborn to admit defeat. Eventually, the corner of Sansa’s mouth quirked upwards and Jon’s usually solemn grey eyes betrayed a slight shine. She broke into laughter first and he quickly followed. After several minutes of shared mirth, Sansa wiped at her eyes and shook her head.

“I haven’t laughed like that in ages,” she said, smiling at him.

“Neither have I,” Jon admitted.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. He stared at her with a strange expression on his face, as if he was trying to figure her out.

“What?” Sansa said softly.

He shook his head, glancing away before looking back at her.

“You look really beautiful when you smile,” Jon informed her.

Sansa stared at him with surprise before flushing happily, looking down at her lap.

“Thank you,” she said, peeking up at him from beneath her lashes.

He smiled slightly, nodding at her as his own cheeks reddened.

* * *

When Sansa finally allowed him to leave his chamber, Jon insisted on walking outside of the castle. When they stepped into the courtyard, her arm looped through his and thick cloaks around their shoulders, they both noticed that it was empty of his former brothers. Jon’s face fell as he looked around and Sansa tried to think of a way to distract him.

“I still haven’t been up there,” she said softly, looking up at the great height of the wall.

Jon glanced over at her before his eyes rose as well.

“Come on,” he said.

Sansa waved Jaime and Brienne off when they made to follow her, ignoring their wary looks. They stepped into the lift and she held onto Jon as it rose in the air. It took a long time to travel up but they remained in a comfortable silence. She watched her breath gather in the air, shivering as they reached the top. Jon stepped out first, offering his gloved hand to her. Sansa took it, stepping onto the pure white surface before following him towards the other edge of the Wall. Luckily, there was no snow falling so they were able to see pretty clearly in front of them. When they reached the edge, Sansa gasped and looked over it with wide eyes. When she made to step forward, his hand clenched hers tightly.

“I can hardly let the Queen in the North go over the edge,” Jon said with a slight smile, though there was a worried undertone to his words.

Sansa gave him a small smile, stepping back for his sake.

“It’s beautiful, Jon,” she breathed.

He nodded in agreement.

“Nothing else really seems to compare when you’re up here,” Jon said, glancing around. “I think that this is what I’ll miss the most.”

Sansa looked at him with surprise. She thought that he might be leaving, for how was he possibly meant to stay? But she did not have any idea of where he meant to go.

“What will you do when you leave?” she asked quietly.

Jon looked back at her, his brow creasing slightly.

“I’m going with you,” he said simply.

Sansa’s heart swelled as she looked into his eyes, knowing that he spoke truly.

“Oh Jon,” she said, shaking her head. “You are truly too good.”

He looked doubtful of her words but she did not give him a chance to deny them, leaning into press a kiss to his cheek. When Sansa drew away, she stopped when his eyes met hers. They were only inches apart and she could feel his warm breath washing over her face. Her hand lifted, her gloved fingers pushing his hair out of his face. Jon hesitated before leaning in a bit closer. Their lips were only separated by a hair’s breadth when they heard a creaking noise behind them. They leapt apart, both gasping and realizing what they were about to do. They stared at each other with shock as Satin approached them.

“Lord Snow-“

“Not anymore,” Jon interrupted him, still looking at Sansa with a guilty expression.

Satin faltered, wondering what to call him if not the title that he’d been using before the mutiny.

“They want you both down in the courtyard,” he finally said.

They tore their eyes away from each other, remaining parted as they followed him to the lift. When they were finally at the bottom of the Wall, Sansa stepped off first and saw that they had the mutineers kneeling in the snow.

“They demand that their fates are decided,” Grenn explained.

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Jon, who was staring at them with a pale expression. The men all looked panicked at the sight of him walking and healthy.

“I wanted to leave it to you, Jon,” she said quietly. “They committed this foul deed against you and you deserve to decide their punishments.”

He glanced at her before looking around at those who were watching. When Jon opened his mouth to speak, the men of the Night’s Watch all snapped to attention. Sansa suddenly saw the kind of ruler that he must have been, one that commanded respect and gave it in return, just like their father.

“I don’t want the decision to be mine,” he said loudly.

Everyone looked at him quizzically.

“Choose your new lord commander and let him decide. I don’t want any part of this anymore,” he said before turning to walk back towards the maester’s tower.

The men all buzzed with confusion.

“Who would we vote in?” one man asked Pyp and Grenn.

“We have no say in it,” Grenn said dismissively.

Jon stopped short, turning with a confused look.

“They’ve been pardoned from their oaths,” Sansa informed him.

He frowned at her, looking as though he did not understand why she would do such a thing.

“This place, and our brothers, was supposed to be honorable, like you always thought. We were better underneath your command,” Pyp said to him.

“Now we’ve lost faith in the Night's Watch,” Grenn continued.

“She offered us a pardon and we accepted,” Satin finished off. “We’re following you and the Queen in the North.”

Jon looked torn between flattery and frustration.

“We’ll be glad to have you,” Sansa said with a smile, though it was stressed.

She watched as he turned to walk off once more, hesitating before following.

“Your Grace?” Satin said, hurrying to catch up to her.

Brienne frowned but she ignored it, allowing him to walk next to her.

“I read something, Your Grace. It was a book in the maester’s tower,” he said.

“About?” Sansa asked, humoring him though her thoughts were on Jon.

He looked wary of admitting it and that made her stop short.

“The Targaryens,” Satin admitted. “It was said that they were impervious to fire.”

Sansa shook her head.

“It’s a myth, Satin. That is like saying that Starks are impervious to being frozen in a snowstorm,” she assured him.

“But I think it’s true! Aegon the Conqueror was doused by dragon fire once and he survived without even a singe,” Satin tried to convince her.

She sighed, deciding to humor him.

“So what do importance does such information hold?” Sansa asked, more impatient than usual because of what was going on with her half-brother.

“Jon survived the fire without a burn on his body,” Satin said in a hushed voice.

She stared at him, her eyes widening at the implication.

“You’re trying to say that Jon is a Targaryen?” Sansa said with disbelief in her voice. “Satin, that is completely ridicu-“

“Is it not possible?” he interrupted, careless that he was speaking to a queen at the moment.

Sansa looked over at Jaime, who was listening.

“Jaime?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment.

“He was born right about the time that your father went to Dorne to get his sister.”

“Rhaegar kidnapped my aunt,” Sansa corrected him.

“Did he?” Jaime said.

She didn’t reply, her mind whirling with the information. Suddenly she remembered something about the night of the bonfire. They were standing by her room and the torches were the only light in the corridor. Jon was reassuring that he would always protect her from the shadows in an insistent voice. And just for a small moment, Sansa could have sworn that his eyes were a dark violet in the flickering light of the flames.

“Oh gods,” she whispered, turning to run inside with her skirts clenched in her hands.

Sansa stumbled into Jon’s rooms to see him sitting on his bed. He looked up at her with surprise.

“Lyanna Stark is your mother,” she breathed heavily, clutching at her chest.

Jon frowned at her, looking confused now.

“Satin told you?” he asked.

Sansa stopped short, staring at him with confusion.

“He told you?” she said.

“He told me of his suspicions,” Jon nodded.

She walked to him, cradling his face in her hands.

“You’re a Targaryen, Jon,” Sansa said confidently.

“You can’t be certain,” he said quietly.

“You were reborn in the flames,” she reminded him. “You are still a Stark. You are my cousin.”

Jon sighed, lifting his hands to put them on her hips gingerly.

“We can’t know for sure, Sansa,” he repeated.

She bent down, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Howland Reed was at the Tower of Joy that day when my father found Lyanna Stark. He has joined our forces to retake Winterfell and he will meet us there. We will ask him,” she decided.

Jon looked into her eyes.

“And if I am your cousin?” he asked.

“We will see what happens,” Sansa replied.

* * *

Once Winterfell was taken, though it was a horrible ruin of what once stood, Sansa was relieved to find that she was home again. The rebuilding began immediately with the help of the freefolk who marched with them and Jon requested that he speak to Howland Reed alone. Sansa waited for her father’s old friend to emerge from the godswood nervously, twisting her hands into her dress. When he finally did, he spotted her as she hurried towards him.

“What news did you give him?” Sansa demanded, waving off his bow.

“The news of his past, of course,” the Lord of Greywater Watch answered.

She stared at him with wide eyes.

“He may be half dragon but that one belongs in the North. Keep him around, Your Grace. You will need him,” Howland advised her.

Sansa barely heard his words once he confirmed what they suspected. She gave him a curt nod before hurrying into the godswood as quickly as her legs would carry her without showing her to be too eager. Once she was out of sight, Sansa broke into a run all the way to the heart tree. She stopped short on the other side of the pool that was at the base of the weirwood. Jon turned when he heard her approach, a wary expression on his face. Sansa took a deep breath, desperate for him to show her what he was thinking. A small smile lifted the corner of his lips and she grinned back. They hurried around the water at once, catching each other and embracing tightly. His lips found hers almost immediately as they realized that their feelings would not have to go unspoken.

“Thank you,” Jon whispered, pulling away to look into her eyes.

“For what?” Sansa asked.

He pressed another long kiss to her lips before speaking again.

“For saving me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


End file.
